


Panto!

by fawatson



Category: The Charioteer - Mary Renault
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1974510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ralph Lanyon and Hugh Treviss prepare for the school panto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panto!

**Author's Note:**

> **Originally posted to:** maryrenaultfics at LiveJournal on 29/08/2011  
>  **Originally written for:** MRF's Summer Challenge 2011  
>  **Prompt** : Spangled Loincloth/Summer Clothes  
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit from them.   
> **Author’s Notes:** The basic challenge was 'summer clothes' but the MRF moderator set an additional challenge to use 'spangled loincloth' in connection with Ralph (rather than the character Bagoas from _The Persian Boy_ , who, as a dancer with a special costume, might reasonably be expected to wear such a garment. The first writer to rise to the challenge was "toujours_nigel", who used the vehicle of a school panto to work in the spangled loincloth. This story followed soon thereafter with another story about a panto and spangled loincloth written shortly afterward by "greerwatson".

It was rather late in the day still to be in the teaching part of school. Everyone else was back in house doing prep. They, however, had had special dispensation from Mr Stuart to sort out the props for the Michaelmas show, traditionally within the purview of the fourth form to provide for the delectation of the rest of the school. 

“Now I’m placing you on your honour,” he’d reminded the two boys in front of him, as he’d granted the privilege. “You may be missing prep tonight; but you are not let off, you understand.” 

Two solemn faces nodded. “Yes, Sir; of course, Sir.” And, hardly daring to believe permission had been granted, Lanyon and Treviss whisked off before it could be withdrawn after further consideration. 

The weak winter sun had long since set; and the room was equipped with only one light bulb which provided such dim light it seemed to cast more shadows than anything else. It had been hard to see things properly until Lanyon had the bright idea of setting up one of the floodlights. Its unforgiving light revealed a cornucopia of costumes of ages past. Inevitably, as boys must, the two had found themselves compelled to try things on as they had sorted. Treviss now sported a red-crested helmet and purple cloak, Lanyon a pair of fairy wings. 

Nonetheless, despite periodic digressions as they noticed some strange new item (they had simply _had_ to try the broadswords when those were uncovered), they had made considerable progress. Costumes they had agreed on for the cast had been set to one side. Treviss would have simply tossed the discards into one large pile; but Lanyon had insisted they should be sorted too. 

“Look at the mess we’ve found,” he’d argued earnestly, “and all the work we’ve had to do. It’s just as easy to leave it tidy, as leave it looking like a tip.” 

Piles of costumes and props, now neatly organised according to type, attested to the boys’ hard work. 

“It’s no good,” said Treviss, “there’s just nothing here suitable.” 

“Surely there must be _something_ ,” Ralph responded. “We can’t be the first year to have performed this play. What about that chest over there.” He pointed to a huge dark leather trunk jammed into one corner of the room. It took all their strength, but by dint of easing it back and forth and from side to side, eventually the two lads managed to pull it out to the middle of the room. 

“Gosh, it’s dusty,” said Treviss, after he’d recovered from his fit of sneezes. “No, just a minute.” He rejected the damp cloth Lanyon held out to him, and bent to the box in front of him. “There.” 

Both boys smirked for a moment at the cartoon of their less than popular Head Boy now outlined in the dust, before tackling the buckles on the chest and throwing open its lid. The smell of camphor brought on another fit of sneezing from Treviss, so it was Lanyon who began the unpacking of this latest treasure trove. 

There was a peacock blue bolero jacket – that might do; a turban with a red feather (yes, definitely). Some rather diaphanous white trousers (Jones’ hairy legs would look a treat in _those_ ). But it was not until he dug deep to the bottom that he brought up the piece the resistance. 

“Here!” he called, his voice cracking an octave in excitement, before tossing it to his companion. 

“Who would have thought it?” Treviss remarked, holding up the offending garment with one finger for inspection. “What _is_ it, anyway?” 

“A loincloth,” said Lanyon. “A pink spangled loincloth! We’ll put it _over_ the trousers!”

There was a moment of silence as both boys imagined the magnificence of Aladdin in all his glory, before they fell on the floor laughing.


End file.
